Henry gives a reluctant grunt, setting his firearm on the table.
“You, sit the fuck down,” I snap at Ryan. “Don’t do that ever again.”
Ryan glares, but he shuffles back to his seat. At least he’s not all emo anymore. Fuck. It’s distracting. I want to comfort him instead of doing what I have to do to get us out of here. Uncle Jasper always said: Never miss an opportunity.
I pull out the clumsy 9mm, missing Pearl’s cool handle. Will she be less mad if I tell her I thought of her the whole time? I don’t wait or make a speech, I just fire. Griffon and Cooper instinctively get down. I’m in a room full of North Point students—except McKinnon. They know how to move when someone’s popping off with a firearm. Clarence ducks under the table. McKinnon bodily moves to protect Luke.
But motherfucking Kline who’s supposed to be helping me, must have caught my hand moving. Because movingbeforeI took the shot is the only way he could fuck up my shot. Both he and Henry hit the floor. A loud shatter breaks the air as my shot goes through the window.
“God fucking dammit, VanCourt. We don’t need to shoot anyone. Let’s talk like civilized men,” Kline says, climbing back to a standing position. Yes, climbing. He has to use the table for support.
I’m not a civilized man. “You took my husband.”
“Your husband came to us,” Clarence says.
“Fucking technicality. Unless we can agree that I walk out of here with everyone, you three die.”
“You can have Ryan and the other two.” Kline nods toward Luke and McKinnon. “I keep my sons and Henry.”
Ryan stands up. “Griff doesn’t belong to you.”
“What the fuck? That wasn’t the deal,” Clarence says.
“Me?” Henry says.
Kline ignores them. All Kline really wants are the last living reminders of his time with Iris—which doesn’t necessarily mean it’ll be good for Griffon and Cooper—and Henry for … well, other than lust and revenge, that wasn’t really clear.
This is a pickle.
I don’t care about Griffon, but Ryan does, which affects what I can do. Not a situation I’m used to. And Griffon just had to be here. Annoying.
Griffon and Cooper pop up from where they took cover. Griff moves his hands. Is that sign language? Huh, it is. Ryan watches, his facial expressions changing until he lands on anger.
“I know you keep saying that, and I get that it’s your life, but it’s hard for me to just walk away. It’s Kline, Griff. Please, come with me.Please.”
Griff opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.
Silent tears stream down Ryan’s furious face. “Do it for me, then,” he bites out. The words are laced with the guilt of saying them. Ryan makes the sacrifices, not the other way around. Griff glances at Cooper, but ultimately nods, walking over to stand closer to Ryan.
Cooper’s throat works, mouth opening as if he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. He readjusts his posture to the prim and perfect statue he was when I walked in.
Ryan relaxes, wiping his tears, but he’s unsettled. And I get it. Griff was willing to cross that invisible line of Savage or Kline that was drawn between them, but Griff only did it for Ryan. What does Griff want? Whatever he wants isn’t in line with what Ryan wants, so this is the equivalent of a truce.
Kline grinds his teeth. “They’re twins. Twins come as a set.”
“You know, Kline. Talking about them like that won’t get you Father of the Year. And if you don’t start cooperating, your usefulness expires,” I say.
“Fine, but I keep Henry as promised.”
“He’s all yours.”
“What the fuck?” Henry says.
Kline shouts a call.
A set of guards marches in. One of them is pretty badly beaten. I laugh. I did that.
“Was it really necessary to fuck up my guards, VanCourt? They were told to let you in.”
